


I’ll Do My Best To Protect Him

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: (probably), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode s02e11 The Golden Spear, Friendship, Gen, Promises, Redemption, The Author Regrets Everything, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Written pre-s02e12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 13:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18811519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: “You are not Della Duck.”It takes a split second for the creature’s words to sink in, but when they do, Donald sits bolt upright. The ache in his body does nothing to stop him from scrambling dizzily to his feet.“You know Della?”





	I’ll Do My Best To Protect Him

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t stop thinking about my poor boy getting launched into space it makes me have SO many emotions and none of them are good. 
> 
> *leave brittney alone voice* LEAVE! DONALD! ALONE!

There’s an extra space suit on the ship. There are two, actually— Donald studiously ignores the fact that there’s space enough for three and puts the first one that he grabs on. It fits him perfectly.

Great. So this one had been his.

He also finds a box of Gyro’s oxy-gum, which he stashes in a pocket. It’s always better to be safe than sorry, with his luck.

And then the ship crashes unceremoniously into _something_ large and planet-shaped, and all Donald knows is blackness as he hits his head and falls unconscious.

There’s a large, purple _something_ poking at him suspiciously with the butt of a spear when he opens his eyes again and groans, and it backs off with a quiet sound of surprise.

Donald peers unsteadily around. He’s still on the ship, then… Everything appears to have been knocked around in the crash, but nothing looks too damaged. And then his gaze lands on the purple creature again, and he wishes it hadn’t, because the _thing_ stares at him more fiercely than Huey had before deciding he needed a vacation. ( _Huey,_ his _boys,_ back on _Earth,_ where he decidedly is _not.)_

“You are not Della Duck,” the creature states. It —she?— sounds… confused.

It takes a split second for the creature’s words to sink in, but when they do, Donald sits bolt upright. The feathers surrounding him —stupid stress-molting— and the ache in his body do nothing to stop him from scrambling dizzily to his feet.

“You know Della?” he croaks, his voice even raspier than usual. He winces, because how is this alien… creature… thing supposed to understand him? His own _boys_ barely understand him, half the time, and those are good days, when his voice _doesn’t_ sound like he just screeched himself hoarse on a crash-course collision with the ground. The creature doesn’t ask for clarification, though. If anything, that fills Donald with just as much hope as his sister’s name coming from the thing’s tongue.

And that. That _hope._ Donald hasn’t felt hope like this in years, not since Scrooge had lost Della’s transmission that very first day. He’d never had hope that she’d be found, because it never _felt_ right. Why have _hope_ if Della obviously wasn’t coming home? But now? This creature, this… purple _being_ had said Della’s name. And Donald _hoped._

“Who are you?” the creature asks instead of answering his question. Donald feels panic, cold and unyielding, shove its way into his chest. It claws at the hope, fighting it feverishly, and Donald shakes his head desperately, gripping at the cool metal of the console under his fingers.

“Please,” he begs. “You said Della’s name. You said it. Is she here?” Logic is amiss at the thought of seeing Della again, of hugging her so tightly that she squirmed, of smothering her with affection before considering just plain smothering her. The ship being on Earth likely means that Della had taken it there, but Donald can’t think that much through.

The creature… She doesn’t _soften,_ but she draws back slightly further and relaxes the hand that’s holding her spear. “She was,” she says carefully, slowly.

It’s enough to wash away the oncoming fear in Donald’s throat. He swallows dryly, suddenly desperately aware of how thirsty he is, and slumps against the console, ten years of pent-up emotion catching up to him in one ridiculous wave of _relief._ Della was (is!) alive, and she’d been here, and now… Now, she’s probably back on Earth.

And Donald is stuck here. Wherever _here_ is.

“Who are you?” The creature repeats, and Donald drops his head down. If she’d been aiming to kill him, he knows he’d already be dead.

“Donald Duck,” he says wearily. The creature gasps. Donald only has enough energy to flick his gaze back up towards her.

“You are Della Duck’s brother,” she says, and she sounds… shocked? He’ll take shocked over murderous any day, knowing Della and the company she’s always had a habit of attracting. Regardless, the stranger straightens up and clears her throat. “I am Lieutenant Penumbra of the Planet Moon,” she states, just bordering on imperious. “Why have you come here?”

Oh, _phooey._ Maybe this Lieutenant Penumbra _is_ one of Della’s more murderous acquaintances.

“I didn’t _mean_ to,” he mutters. He rests the top part of his helmet against the console, letting his eyes fall closed. “I got in the ship to look for Della, and it brought me here.”

For a long, long moment, Penumbra says nothing. Donald thinks about looking at her again, but his head aches and his back aches and if he moves again any time in the next decade, it feels like it will be too soon. So he stay where he is and lets her process, or think, or decide whether or not to kill him, or whatever she’s doing while she stares at him.

A hand landing firmly on Donald’s shoulder manages to startle him, though, and he jumps wildly and does his best to wiggle away from the tight grip.

“I was a terrible friend to Della Duck,” Penumbra states quietly, holding fast. Donald stops struggling, intent on what she has to say. “I will make it up to her now by protecting you, Donald Duck, with my life. You are not safe here. If General Lunaris sees that you have arrived, he will find a way to twist your appearance to his advantage, I am sure of it.”

A part of Donald wants to ask who General Lunaris is, and why he’s such a dangerous guy. But another part —a much bigger, much saner part— of himself is _exhausted_. “I just want to take a nap,” he says, and Penumbra actually laughs at that. Donald is surprised; her laugh is a lot prettier than he’d expected. In fact, he isn’t sure he’d managed to expect her to be able to laugh at all.

“Your Earthen humour is still so foreign to me, but I believe that I am beginning to understand it,” she says. Donald just heaves a sigh. “Do not worry, Donald Duck, brother to mighty adventurer Della Duck. I will ensure your safety here on the Planet Moon. While General Lunaris is busy with his plans, I will help to sneak you into Tranquility.” She pats his shoulder before letting go. “And then, you can take a fine nap,” she adds. Donald thinks she might be trying to make a joke, because she smiles awkwardly after him.

He doesn’t hook into it. Instead, he closes his eyes again and shakes his head. “I can nap here,” he mumbles. Penumbra hasn’t killed him yet, after all, and if she’s so firm on keeping him safe, then he’s pretty sure he can take a quick trip to dreamland.

He can feel something jostling him as he drifts off, but he pays it no mind. It’s probably something he can deal with later. In fact, it’s actually rather nice. Like the rocking of his houseboat on the waves of the Marina…

He dreams of his home, his family, and the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> I keep forgetting Lunaris’ name. I usually just refer to him as “whatever the fuck y’know him.”
> 
> Kudos/comments are love! Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans.


End file.
